


Talk Some Sense

by OptimisticJamie



Category: Uncharted, Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Retelling, Slow Burn, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-09-28 06:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10077470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OptimisticJamie/pseuds/OptimisticJamie
Summary: As she watched Drake strip his flippers and grab a crowbar, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she should've looked into getting a background check done on Nate Drake, because he couldn't possibly be a descendant of Sir Francis, history didn't add up.





	1. Chapter 1

It was the opportunity of a lifetime, something she never thought she'd be privy to even _witness_ let alone be standing right next to the crew as they'll pull the coffin of Sir Francis Drake from the bottom of the ocean, set it safely on the deck of the rigger, then proceed to open. It was unthinkable, impossible, exciting, and within her reach. 

The call had startled her out of a boring day of reading emails and editing footage, making her jump and stare at the desk phone for longer than was deemed professional. The call was quick and created more questions than it answered, but the message was clear; finance the expedition for the retrieval of Sir Francis Drake. 

Too bad no one wanted to come with her on this one. 

Her camera was rolling, battery almost fully charged, as the crane deposited the barnacle encrusted coffin on the deck of the boat, the metal deck beneath her feet vibrating with the weight of it. 

One thing Elena hadn't taken into account was the possibility of the 'crew' that was mentioned would consist of a single man in his late twenties with blue eyes and brown hair and a cocky smile that was _built_ for the camera. Well, can't have everything. She certainly wasn't complaining. 

She and her guide who introduced himself as Nate Drake, had spent a week in a dingy hotel room in Panamá working out possible locations and narrowing down search areas. An older man by the name of Sullivan often joined them, frequently staying till late into the night to ensure Drake was doing thorough research.   
"I don't want to be stuck here when this is over, kid." Sullivan had said, as if they could possibly loose money on this search. 

Elena didn't give it much thought. She was just there to film and create a show, not worry about the logistics of a pair of historians who seemed shady at best with the details of their work. 

Now though, as she watched Drake strip his flippers and grab a crowbar, she thought that maybe, just maybe, she should've looked into getting a background check done on Nate Drake, because he couldn't possibly be a descendant of Sir Francis, history didn't add up. 

"Are you sure you want to be defiling your ancestor's remains like that?" She teased, camera still rolling but this time focused on Drake himself as he laughed and flashed a grin, brandishing his crowbar as if it was a simple wooden pole. 

"You make it sound so dirty." His laughter was laced with light exhaustion. From the moment they pulled the coffin from the water he was running around, not taking a moment to sit and watch, almost as if he was in a hurry to get things over and done with. He made a quip about her skepticism, using the full weight of his body to jostle the lid of the coffin enough that he could easily push it off with his foot. "Besides," he continued, "you can't defile an empty coffin." 

With that he pushed the lid of the coffin off, it clattered to the deck of the boat with a loud crunch, the sound of concrete grinding against steel making Elena's ears ring in protest, revealing what Drake had so smugly stated. The coffin was empty. 

"What the hell?" Elena moved closer, focusing the camera on the very empty coffin of Sir Francis Drake. 

Empty. Who would've predicted that. 

Well, apart from the Drake currently kneeling in front of her with his hands in a small waterproof box that is. 

"What is it?" She asked, trying to see around Drake's shoulders at what was in his hands, "hold it up, let's see it." 

She made to move closer when Drake turned around, shoving the palm of his hand into the lenses of her camera, making her double back to avoid getting his dirty smudges on the lenses which would set her back a few hours as she took the camera apart to clean it. 

Drake insists they agreed on the coffin and that was it. Nothing more. Bullshit. She was going to get her story even if she had to pry it out of his hands. She had the contract he signed in her backpack on Sullivan's plane, neat handwriting and a looping signature scrawled on a dotted line next to the current date, there was no way he was backing out of this that easily. 

Unfortunately it looked like they'd have to fight their way back to Panamá. 

Elena wasn't great with a gun, as outlined in her rather vague description-- _"just point and shoot?"_ \--but she wasn't a total loss either. She downed half as many men as Drake did, and managed to avoid getting shot herself, although at one point she felt several bullets whizz past her head so fast she could feel the heat in the air around them as they passed. 

Wait. Drake's been in a Panamanian jail before? 

He owed her more than a simple story now. She was in this for the long haul, she turned around and smugly stated her intentions to Drake and Sullivan before turning back around to clean her camera, completely missing the confused look Drake gave Sullivan behind her. 

The flight back to Panama was easy, talking with her producer was not. They had agreed to not blow too much money on their story in case the search for the coffin fell through. It was still enough money for hotel rooms, boat hire--and subsequent insurance payments--diving equipment and general upkeep fees, but now the story was developing further and her asshole of a producer just wasn't _understanding_. 

She begged, bargained, pleaded until he agreed to send her more money and a camera crew. That's when Elena heard a boat engine roar to life and she whirled around to witness her ride, carrying most of her gear, Sullivan and Drake speed out of the bay. The men didn't even glance over their shoulders. 

Typical.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh. He was warm. Very warm. Most likely from the running he was obviously doing, but that didn't stop Elena from thinking about it.

If there's one thing Elena has learnt from her time as a solo camera crew, it's always tag your gear with a GPS. Not that it's doing her a whole lotta good right now as she leaned her hands against the rail of a small speedboat that's zooming up the Amazon river, looking for a break in the undergrowth to let her off. 

The gear she had left on Drake's boat was, ironically, a GPS that was only accurate to a kilometre. So Drake and Sullivan could be anywhere within a kilometre square of the little red blip on her tracker. Her current guide was already doubting her sanity as she urged him to let her off anywhere, because if she didn't get off soon she's sure they'll move and she'll loose her gear. Gear that her producer is already down her throat to get back in one piece. 

"I don't know what you will find in there," her driver states as she leaps over the side of the boat, landing in ankle deep water that, thankfully, was kept out of her socks by her boots. 

"My stolen property." She responds while hefting a small backpack over her shoulder and pulling out her tracker again. Good, she's a little closer to the red blip. 

Her driver makes a non-committed noise of understanding, guns the engine and has the decency to wait till she's on dry land before speeding off back down the river, leaving her alone with her crazy thoughts. 

"Well," she said to herself, "he's certainly in a hurry." She gave the boat and its driver no second thought as she turned and climbed into the jeep she was promised would be waiting for her, keeping her eyes glued to the rainforest floor and taking wide steps around sticks and leaves that looked suspiciously like snakes and other nasty creatures that were willing to do her harm. 

She had been driving for nearly an hour--ten minutes of which were filled with her walking around and filming the jungle, and standing stock still as a massive snake slid over her shoe and she tried not to shriek--before she found what looked like old stone archways. She had stopped to film them, slowly panning over the crumbling walls and doing her own internal narration for when she was back in a studio with a microphone and the internet, when she heard something crashing through the undergrowth, and coming closer. For a heartstopping moment she thought she was done for when the thing burst out of the undergrowth wearing jeans and a white shirt. 

Drake. 

Elena didn't even think twice before she reached out and grabbed him by the bicep, hauling him sideways from his mad forward dash. The movement sparked something in his eyes and his fist came up to defend himself, triggering Elena to raise her own and speak, "woah there cowboy!"

Drake visibly relaxed, planting his hands on his knees and doubling over trying to catch his breath. That wouldn't do. Elena let her fist fly, her knuckles connecting with Drake's face just under his left eye and cracking. She shook her hand out and served him her reason for striking that obnoxiously handsome face. 

" _What the hell are you doing here!_ " Drake hissed, urgency lacing his tone.

Urgency that Elena didn't pick up on. "Listen, I'm a good enough reporter to follow a couple of no-luck tomb robbers--"

She was cut off abruptly when Drake shushed her, pushing her against the stone pillar they were standing next to, both of his hands on either side of her shoulders and his chest very close to her body. 

Oh. He was warm. Very warm. Most likely from the running he was obviously doing, but that didn't stop Elena from thinking about it. 

She couldn't think about it for long, for just as the thought had formed in her mind it was chased away by the heavily armed men running straight past their position, their guns and gear making enough of a racket to wake the dead. After their departure Drake moved away from her and she let out a breath she didn't even know she was holding. 

"You're down to one tomb robber now." Drake stated, "Sully's dead." 

The news hit Elena like her fist did Drake's face. She'd actually rather liked Sullivan. "Oh god, I'm sorry." Was all she could say. 

Drake hardly heard her apology, "please tell me you have a gun." 

"Of course." She handed over the hand gun in her thigh holster and Drake relaxed, his shoulder dropping an inch or too from the tension being released. 

"I have a car, it's back this way." Elena explained, tugging on Drake's shirt. 

She hadn't realised just how far she had walked away from her vehicle until she needed to get back to it. With the literal army chasing Drake, the travel was slow, constant sneaking a necessity until they could no longer avoid the men. 

Elena picked up a handgun from the first person Drake shot, wasting no time in returning fire and grabbing as much ammo as she could. She left the gun unholstered as they continued their trek. After nearly two hours they were back at her car, and Drake was pulling the palm leaves off its surface. 

She made a comment about his popularity, and he quipped back with an insult he did not intend to make before quickly trying to cover his tracks. She reassured him she wasn't offended, especially since he just handed her a map to El Dorado. Holy shit this story was going to be enormous, now she just needed to convince Drake that she was coming with him whether or not he liked it. 

He was, surprisingly, easy enough to convince. Clearly he preferred having a partner than working on his own, but he still did not tell her everything as he tried to turn the jeep on. It made a horrible grating noise before it coughed out and gave up, Drake threw his hands up in defeated for a moment, commented on her posture, before trying again. In that time Elena slapped him with the map and reminded him that she could easily look after herself. Surely their little jog through the jungle just proved that. 

Whatever. The jeep was running and they were on their way out of the rainforest


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parachuting and jailbreaks

Elena Fisher was something else. 

Nate honestly believed that he'd seen the last of the blonde haired reporter when Sully convinced him to leave her stranded on the dock with nothing but her satellite phone and her camera. What he didn't take into account was the rest of her gear she left on the boat. Whether it was accidental or strategically placed Nate really didn't care, he was just impressed she'd turn up in the middle of the jungle simply to dislocate his jaw and give him a good verbal dressing down as he drove. 

At least she had the decency to remember what he'd told her, so maybe she wasn't as useless as he first thought after all. 

He just wished she'd put that damn camera down. 

She sat next to him in the copilot seat, camera rolling as she narrated everything she filmed, telling her audience vehemently of their intentions to find El Dorado. She left out the fact that El Dorado was a statue and not a city, that would ruin the surprise and her audience wouldn't want to watch the rest of the show. 

Tricky business hosting a show. 

Despite his complaints, Elena noticed Nate's attitude towards the camera. At first he'd scowl at it as if it had personally offended him or his mother, but as she'd pan over him, speaking with him and providing information to her audience, he'd soften and begin to flirt. Whether he was flirting with her or the camera she was unsure, probably both. Most likely both. Elena didn't mind, the more he acted engaging, the more likely people would stick around. 

And she was shamelessly enjoying his flirting. 

That was until the plane caught fire and they had to jump.

Count to five then pull the cord. That was his advice, now she found herself stuck dangling seven feet above the ground, her parachute caught on the crumbled wall of an old building in the middle of who-the-fuck-knows-where, and her camera still clutched safely in her hands. 

"Hmm." The noise warmed through her nose, bringing her back to earth quicker than simply waiting for her nerves and adrenaline to calm would've as she tried to think of a safe way down. She swung her head around, parachute above her, ground below her, rocks on either side, a cliff in front of her. So not that way. 

Carefully she turned and forced her feet into what seemed to be the sill of a window, digging the toes of her boots into the gap till she was sure the structure would hold her, she then unclipped the buckle around her waist and slipped her arms out of the straps of the parachute. Jaw clenched tight around the strap of the camera she gingerly made her way from foot hold to foot hold, cursing her lack of gym attendance these last few months when she finally reached the ground. 

Hands on her hips, blowing loose strands of hair out of her face, she looked up at the parachute, gave a little laugh, and decided to look around. 

"Good job, Elena. Get yourself lost in a jungle in the middle of God-knows-where, your contract gone, and your producer breathing down your neck. Good job." She muttered to herself as she turned a corner, her eyebrows shooting up into her hair line when she was confronted with the sight of an old crumbling structure. 

A fort. 

Her camera was recording in three seconds flat. No narration this time, just simply capturing the scene, she spent a good thirty minutes filming the walk to a single watch tower that looked to still be in tact, before she moved deeper into the fort. 

The sound of gunfire startled her from filming and she quickly slipped behind a waist-high wall, clicking the camera off and attaching it to her belt, the sound was close but muffled by the thick stone walls. It was coming back from the direction of her landing point and she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. At least she knew Drake was alive.   
When the noise died down she let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding and straightened, "maybe they've come to an agreement." She thought, and continued. 

The place was amazing. Mostly still in tact, and only covered by small patches of moss. If only she knew more about it, or what they were looking for. Granted she was convinced Drake had no clue either, just a name and a random map reference. Well, a map reference that had led them to a fort, with an adjoining harbour. 

She stood on the roof of a building, filming the building across the river, contemplating the wrecked ships, when she heard someone fire a single shot behind her. She jumped and whirled around, fists up ready to punch anyone who came too close when she saw the balcony of an upper level explode, and Nathan Drake collapse with it, unconscious. He had been so close, if only she had turned around a little more, taken more heed of her surroundings. Now she was watching as he was hauled over the shoulder of a dirty mercenary with a wicked looking gun, his body limp and blood running from his bicep. 

"Shit." The curse was hissed through her teeth as she dropped into a crouch, careful to avoid being spotted--again, as she followed the man with her annoyingly handsome guide over his shoulders. Really, she knew she should've just packed up and gone home when they left her at the dock, but if she was being honest with herself, she was curious to see what would happen, how things would pan out, if she followed them--plus she needed to be sure that Drake knew it was a dick move. 

She watched as Drake was thrown into the prison of the fort, the same rooms she had passed only moments ago, giving them nothing but a second glance, the door locked, _where did they find a key?_ , and Drake left slumped on the floor. 

It didn't take long for Elena to find a crate and push it against the outer wall of his cell, what took longer was finding enough pebbles to throw at him. 

Three pebbles in and she hadn't managed to hit his head before he moaned himself awake. Shame. 

"I know I'm not a big-time treasure hunter like you," she began, quickly getting his attention and savouring the look of utter confusion he gives her, "but I doubt you're going to find El Dorado in there." She placed her arm on the sill of the window, resting her body against the wall casually, "how'd you get yourself in this mess?" 

"Trying to rescue you as a matter of fact." Nate said plainly as he walked over to the window and held onto the bars. At this angle she was taller than him, which was surprisingly refreshing, but it also gave her the chance to see that his eyes actually had flecks of light blue, almost white in their irises. 

"Aww, that's so sweet." She said as she turned her attention to the brick wall, running her hand over the stone she muttered mostly to herself, but loud enough for Nate to hear it. He had been showing off, now it was her turn. 

"How'd you get to know so much about this?" He asked, sounding impressed. Good. 

"My show," she explained proudly, "episode four, architects of a new world. I'll only take a pull to get these bars out." She said as she turned to jump off the crate.

"Wait, are you sure!?" The panic in Nate's voice was only slightly worrying, as she made a clicking noise, winked, then jumped out of his line of sight. She had seen a good looking four by four earlier, now she just had to find it. 

It didn't take long, just turn a few corners and it was there. No guards, nothing. Still, she didn't want to draw attention to herself, so she put the car in neutral and pushed it down the slight slope towards the prison, stopping it just a few feet away from Nate's cell. She jogged around to the front and unhooked the winch cable, listening to the rhythmic clicking as the wire unspooled. 

She didn't bother climbing onto her crate, only reaching up and hooking the winch around the middle bar of the window, cursing quietly when she missed the first time. 

"--The last man alive gets the gold! And the girl of course." Elena heard the voice echoing out of the window. Whoever it was they sounded mad, but what was more surprising was the familiarity in which Nate responded to it, "The girl? Oh Eddy the girl's long gone. Probably off the island by now." 

Huh, turns out Nate wasn't as dumb as she first thought. Then again, she felt she was going to be thinking that a lot. 

She gave the conversation slight consideration as she quickly ran back to the jeep, jumping in and gunning the engine.

"How much trouble could one girl be?" 

_Oh_ she thought, _just watch me._

Slamming the jeep into reverse she felt the cable pull then come free, the wall of the prison practically exploding with the force of the winch, rock and metal showering down. She looked to see the bewildered face of the man Nate was talking to, Eddy she thought she heard his name before, and Nate looking like he could shout for joy. 

Instead she stood up, told him to hurry his ass along, and watched as he snatched the map from Eddy and vaulted into the jeep. 

"Hang on!" She warned before slamming the accelerator. She heard Nate fall backwards in the back of the jeep, and rolled her eyes, but she couldn't think too much about his lack of reflexes as she spotted Eddy's men running for their own jeeps.

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm a sucker for slow burn fics and there aren't enough for Nate and Elena I decided to do it myself.


End file.
